Brighter Shores
by Woodwind
Summary: Slash. Marty and Doc live together in the distant future. Doc is working on a phonograph and Marty returns home from the beach. They kiss. People arrive. Yeah, that's pretty much it... A one-shot that could have been the happy ending to a much longer novel. (I kept imagine J'nanin from Myst III Exile as the setting for their final destination.)


It was late in the day and the sunlight was spilling through puffy clouds like a hazy gush of gold, gilding the small, round dwellings with a warm and delightful patina. Clothes on a washing line swayed languidly in the faint breeze sweeping over the small, emerald island. Still bright in the afternoon glow, coral sand and bleached limestone cliffs lined the shores. There was the occasional, distant clatter of dinner plates and cheerful laughter heard from open windows or backyards and the aroma of cooking mingled thickly with the pungent scents of greenery and the surrounding sea.

A little standoffish, situated on the bare waterfront cliffs, was a stocky, white stone tower with an encircling wooden deck. Steps, cut directly into the crags, crisscrossed the surrounding rocks in all directions and spiraled down wells to the tidal caves below. On closer inspection, an observer could not fail to notice the pipes and rods and assorted wheels protruding from the openings; some sticking out into the air, others going down lidded shafts into the ground. On top of the eclectic structure, a small wind turbine was rotating leisurely, casting off glints of sunlight in even intervals.

Underneath a large sunscreen, Doctor Emmett Brown was tweaking with the mechanism of a phonograph on the wooden deck. An undone, somewhat worn silver-and-black robe spilled onto the bleached timber as he knelt by the device. In spite of the shade, it became balmy on the deck when the wind subsided. Absentmindedly, he undid the second button on his shirt and loosened the tie. His brow was furrowed in deep concentration and he did not hear the approaching light, barefoot steps.

"Hey, Doc." Marty came sauntering into the shade in a tee and shorts, carrying a wakeboard. "What are you doing?" He had that usual, easy-going appearance, a deep tan and a bright smile, like he had been doing nothing but surfing in the eight months since they got here. But in his defense, Marty – like most days – had spent the better part of the day at the community school, teaching history and algebra to the younger children. If someone had told him a year ago that he'd be volunteering as a teacher, Marty would have been seriously worried about having messed up the timeline somewhere. But now, when going to school was no longer an obligation, he had found that he quite liked being in a classroom after all. And there was no Strickland to bug him here! The kids seemed to like him and the other teachers were helpful and friendly.

Emmett looked up from his work.

"Marty! Just in time!" He arranged the phonograph on a table and dashed through the open door and into the house.

"You got that thing to actually _work_?" Marty called after him while putting aside the wakeboard, surprised and with unconcealed admiration in his voice. Doc had been at it for weeks, with Marty assisting him in the evenings, as their routine usually went these days.

"Don't know yet. I'll need a record…" He could hear the older man rumbling through drawers and boxes inside.

"Hah!" Marty heard him exclaim spiritedly and then the scientist appeared again with a disc that seemed in ridiculously good shape. He put it in the phonograph, rotated a handle for a couple of minutes and then placed the needle to the record. And instantly a soft flow of music - although a little shaky and squeaky - was heard. Marty nearly jumped at the sound that was both oddly familiar and unfamiliar at the same time.

"It's an oldie," Emmett said with a wink in his eye. "I found a couple of records earlier under the seat of the DeLorean."

"Yeah… That's what I call an oldie, Doc." Marty grinned. Indeed, the record would be almost two thousand years old by now. Music players, like so much else, had been lost in the Great Regression that began in the 29th century. But thanks to Doc, another piece of history had been restored. Their house was full of bags and crates and boxes from salvage expeditions in The Outlands. This device must have been recovered from a museum or some such place. It was hard to tell what the ruins had once been.

The song was a ballad with a nice rock n' roll beat. When it had finished, Emmett put it on repeat.

Marty came up beside him and put a hand on Emmett's back.

"Great job, Doc," he said, shooting his friend a warm smile. Marty's luminous, sea blue eyes met with the dark, earthen umbra of Emmett's. After nearly a lifetime of solitude and still unaccustomed to recognition, the scientist shrugged and looked down automatically.

"Well, it wasn't that hard, really… You helped me. And I had to manufacture some new parts, but the piece was in relatively good condition," he mumbled with a shy smile. Then he felt Marty lightly pulling him by the end of the tie, and as he turned sideways, the youth reached up and put his arms around Emmett's neck. The music filled the air and mingled with the sound of the wind and the surf, the calls of the gulls and the clicks and buzz of assorted machinery. Without a word, the young man tugged the other into a slow dance on the deck. As Marty buried his face on Emmett's shoulder, he felt the scientist's arms tighten possessively around him.

Nudging the warm skin at the open collar with the tip of his nose, Marty noted the faint smell of pines and honey (homemade soap from conifer needles and beeswax) mixed together with that reassuring, undefinable scent that was Doc. He felt the other man leaning into the touch and angling his face toward him. With his eyes closed, he lightly traced Emmett's neck up to the chin with his lips. As he felt their breaths combining, Marty opened his eyes.

The bright eyes shot up at him. Emmett felt a sudden tightness in his chest and he automatically hugged Marty a little closer, although there was not much space left to fill. He knew the music was still playing somewhere, but it seemed endlessly far away, like the house, the island and the rest of the world. All that existed was those sparkling blue pools that seemed to possess the same bewitching wonder and bounty as the ocean; his own breathing deepening and falling into sync with Marty's, like the rise and fall of the swells. A whirling feeling spread in pit of his stomach as the youth's fingers sailed into the curls of his neck. In silent admiration, Emmett reflected for a moment on how brazenly the sun was bested by the inner light of those ocean blue eyes. As the waters claimed him, he willingly surrendered to the sea. He closed his eyes and felt the warm mist on his nostrils just before the tide rolled over him.

Standing on his toes, Marty reached up and closed his lips over Emmett's. The touch was soft and warm, lips parting to take him in. His hands at the back of the other man's head and neck, Marty gently pulled him further down to deepen the kiss, until the tall, lean man was slightly stooping, towering over him. The sides of the open robe billowed gently around them, like an untied sail. Strong arms enveloped his rather diminutive form and Marty melted pliantly into the seamless embrace as his mouth delved deeper. As their tongues brushed against each other, a rush of electricity surged through his body and he felt the other man tense momentarily at the touch. Reassuringly, Marty kept his hands firmly behind Doc's head, keeping him from pulling back out of habit. As the older man relaxed into the embrace and their tongues met again, slower and more deliberately, he felt heat rising on Emmett's neck and cheeks. Marty could feel his own heart bobbing in his chest. Of their own accord, Emmett's hands moved down Marty's back and came to rest under the small curve of his seat. With surprising strength, the scientist then straightened and lifted him off the ground. As his bare feet left the deck, Marty anchored his arms more firmly around Doc.

Finally breaking the kiss and parting for air, Marty rested his forehead against Doc's. From his new vantage point, he was slightly above eye level with the other man. In the intimate space between their faces, Emmett held his gaze. The arms were firmly supporting him and their centers of gravity nearly combined as most of Marty's weight rested on the other man's upper body. Recalling how those intelligent brown eyes would usually be intently focused on some complicated calculation or intricate contraption, Marty felt his heart race now that they were giving him their undivided attention. But at the moment, the cutting-edge sharpness had left them and the look on the taller man's face was almost beseeching. The widened eyes, framed by sooty eyelashes, seemed exceptionally dark from the dilated pupils. But all the salient features – the hawk nose, the facial lines, the eyebrows usually drawn together in concentration – had softened. There was even an atypical bloom of color on the scientist's cheeks. The intensity was still there, but it was nothing like the usual, slightly maniacal energy that was so characteristic of his brilliant friend or even the less common bashfulness and reserve that sometimes surfaced on personal matters. This was the uncovered version of Doc, stripped of all its protective mannerisms. Whereas Emmett might have reached such a conclusion by analyzing the bits and parts, Marty arrived at it intuitively. He smiled warmly at the man in front of him.

If time ever seemed to be standing perfectly still, causing a singularity in the space-time continuum, it must be doing so now, Emmett thought, as his young friend beamed at him. He'd never seen an equation so elegant, a fact more compelling, a law so flawless, as the face before him. The sable, wind-blown hair in slight disarray from sand and surf, the cheeks deeply flushed and the thin lips unmistakably swollen… That last observation made Emmett swallow in self-awareness. But it was the kindness and warmth in the youth's eyes that demanded the temporal arrest. And when Marty gently cupped his hand on Emmett's cheek and smilingly proclaimed "I love you… Emmett," the scientist for the first time felt his limbs becoming weak. He had never called him by his first name before. For a few moments, all he could do was breath, as Marty's fingers stroked away a string of his unruly hair and then followed the jawline to his chin with his fingertips. Then Emmett quietly uttered the words he had never dared to speak in the past: "I love you, Marty." And he did. He had loved him through all times; through paradoxes before Marty was even born, and millennia thereafter. He had never loved another. The words came almost as a confession, spilled into the sunlight like the most guarded secret of his soul. Marty softly sealed his lips to Emmett's, adding offense to their new-found plumpness.

There were voices approaching. The record was still playing and the sound had carried inland and attracted the curiosity of their neighbors. Emmett smiled as he gently lowered Marty down. Though his feet were firmly back on the ground, Marty let his hands rest on the taller man's neck. People entered the premises and filed onto the wooden deck, raising hands in greeting and unabashedly started looking around for the source of the curious sound they had been hearing. A woman approached them, smiled and pointed at the phonograph. Emmett nodded in agreement, his arms still looped around Marty's back. He shot a glance at the youth who shrugged smilingly. They were not the big news. It was a small community, so most likely everybody already knew. Soon nearly a dozen people had gathered around the funny device and were drowning out the music with their chatter and laughter. With a loving squeeze of Emmett's arm, Marty finally detached himself with some resignation. He cleared his throat and stated to explain as best he could what a phonograph was in the local language.

Sometimes the crowd would turn in his direction at Marty's words and gestures, and Emmett would nod shyly or smile at their "oohs" and "aahs". It had him wondering how much undue credit Marty was affording him and with a grin he made a mental note to set some time aside to properly study the language. The idea did not raise any particular enthusiasm, as he was not a natural linguist like Marty, who had picked up the speech in just a few months. He filed the decision on his to-do-list of lesser priority. And while his young lover was entertaining their guests with his lecture – which was more like a one-man performance before a rapt audience – Emmett happily sneaked away into the house to rummage through the crates for another project to take on.


End file.
